


Full Throttle

by Guardian Of The Lotus (DistantStorm)



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Meet-Cute, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 21:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21204341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/Guardian%20Of%20The%20Lotus
Summary: Ariadne Gris catches Sloane checking out Marcus' new pit boss. This can only be trouble, considering that pit boss is an all-grown-up Amanda Holliday.(Sloane's a spark, and Amanda's always been unleaded gasoline.)





	Full Throttle

**Author's Note:**

> Basically this one's a series of one-shots (in order) that will vary in rating (some smut will be included, for sure), that details the development of Sloane and Amanda's relationship, before the events of Destiny 1. Amanda isn't the Shipwright yet, and it's business as usual at the Tower. I'll be here playing merry hell with the characters, so if you see something that doesn't line up, let me know, I'm not the best at lore leading into D1, but I'd like to keep things canon.

From beside her, Ariadne Gris whistles low. “See somethin’ you like, Sloane?”

The Deputy Commander scoffs, pointedly making eye-contact to lessen the scrutiny she’s clearly under. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Gris.”

“Suuure,” The Hunter says, letting it drop. Her grin doesn’t lessen. Sloane’s always had a knack for being interested in the worst women, and… well, Ariadne is only lucky enough to watch it unfold once every couple decades.

-/

She wipes sweat from her eyes; The hat she’s wearing does little to keep the sweat from pouring down her forehead. Temperature down on the track - between the thrusters, the cloudless sky, the people - is sitting just over 51° centigrade, and the air around the pit isn’t much better. 

The crowd whoops and she rolls her eyes, huffing into her radio, “Marcus Ren, you insufferable show-off, you crash that bird makin’ kissy faces an’ I ain’t building you a new one!”

Something like laughter cuts back over the line. Didi, his Ghost, answers brightly, “Marcus says he can’t hear you-”

“Muah, muah-”

“Alright princess,” She cuts back in, over the both of them and their antics, “Home stretch. Keep it together, easy on the struts, and don’t hit nothin-”

“Yeah, easier said than done, boss. I got Bast on my ass and-” The loud cry of some irritated Captain who’s decided they want to ruin a good time warps the line into static. “You try havin’ to put up with this. I can only do so much with what I got-”

She scowls, stomping her foot, growling into the radio, “Then  _ hit _ the thruster!”

A quick glance to the right, to the large screen a majority of the crowd is watching suggests that he’s done precisely that, effectively erasing the Fallen with the plume of fire from the back of the Sparrow. Furthers her earlier opinion: show-off.

“They’re gaining on me.”

“Then stop treatin’ ‘er like she’s fragile and push it.”

“Boss, you sound a whole lot like you’re askin’ me to ruin this bird you made. She can’t take more than what I’m givin’ her, Didi’s tellin’ me a good kick will blow the suspension and then I’ll be dragging ass across the finish.”

“You got a brain in that head ‘a yours? This is just a qualifier.” She looks to the screen again. He’s got three riders closing in. “Get within a kilometer of the finish and kick it. You won’t blow’er right a way, should get you past the finish and the stands before you blow up.”

“You’re kidding, right? I toast this bird and you’ll murder me-”

Laughing, she clicks the radio, “Please. That’s just a dummy. Y’gotta qualify before I put ya in one’a my specials, Ren. I’m not about to waste the quality merchandise on you showing off to makin’ it to primetime.” She looks over at one of the techs on her crew who’s shaking his head. No doubt he’s seen the fancy bird she’s packed in the back of the trailer for when they actually start racing tonight. “‘Sides, she’ll hold. Woulda’ done better if you hadn’t decided to be a pisspot and drift into that Dreg, but-”

Marcus makes some garbled excuse, saying exasperatedly, “Alright, alright. I’m coming up on my mark. See you in a few.”

-/

Ren’s sparrow is smoking when he hits the finish - he’s first, though - and the exhaust pops when he eases off and tries to guide her into the pit lane. Sloane tries to watch that, but her eyes are on the woman who jumps up onto the barricade - top of her coveralls flapping behind her. Marcus isn’t off the Sparrow before she’s yelling at him.

Sloane catches a glimpse of a sheepish, yet somehow still cocky, smile from Marcus while his pit boss circles the damaged Sparrow like a lioness evaluating her prey. Muscular, tattooed arms - lean and unassumingly strong - gleam in the sunlight as she leans over the bike, looking at some of the indicators on the digital dash. She sees the peek of the lion sigil peeking out where her neck meets her back, before the dip of her tank top. “Who’s the Titan,” She asks, before thinking about who she’s asking, or that she’s validating the Hunter’s previous commentary. When she feels the chaotic energy that is fueling a Hunter’s fire, she sighs. “I haven’t seen them before,” She tells Ariadne. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“She’s a bit small for a Titan, don’t you think?” Ariadne is about to lay on some more teasing, but Pixie, her Ghost appears before her. 

“Didi said you guys can come down now. Says there’s cold beer in the cooler, too,”She informs them.

“Score!” The Hunter whacks Sloane’s arm - well, almost. A sharp glance that says ‘do it, I dare you,’ has her stopping midway. Ariadne waves both hands between them in a hasty gesture. “Okay, full disclosure. I know that look.”

“What look?” Sloane cocks her head to the side.

  
“ _ The _ look.” She rolls her eyes. “Titans,” She says, exasperated. “You’re interested. I get it. It makes sense, considering your track record-”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sloane’s hands go to her hips, her eyes narrowing.

“You always pick the hot messes.” Ariadne rises as well and puts a hand on her shoulder. “You want to know who that girl is?”

The look she receives in reply is a non-verbal ‘duh.’ Well, she warned her, Adriadne thinks, name on her lips.

“Amanda Holliday, y’know, Zav-”

Sloane’s head snaps to the right to look her in the eye so fast Ariadne thinks the Titan might have whiplash. “What? Shouldn’t she be-”

“She’s been out of the Forces for three, four months now?” Ariadne shrugs. “Zavala swept all the info about it under the rug, you know how protective he’s always been of her.” Leaning in closer, Gris continues, “Word is the Commander’s been trying to keep his little girl reigned in, but she’s been in the forces for ten years now.” She gives Sloane another little shrug. “She’s an adult now, and she’s never just  _ lived _ .”

“I didn’t know,” Sloane says, irritated at how stupid she sounds. She’s supposed to be in the know, damn it.

“Of course not. Nobody does, she was looking for work and Marcus figured it might earn him brownie points - and, turns out, she’s really freaking good. Rumor has it that she’s on the outs with the old man, too. Whatever went down, he was involved. So just… whatever urges you have, just don’t.”

Of course, Ariadne can only warn her.

Holliday takes off her hat, chucking it on the ground to wipe sweat from her brow as they approach. It lands at Sloane’s feet and it’s all over.

“Ladies,” She says, brows arching. Amanda jerks a thumb back into the stall with her team. “Tell princess to save a beer for me, he shouldn’t be drinkin’ before his race tonight, anyway.”

“You got it,” Ariadne says, dragging Sloane along with her.

The tattooed woman swings her mech-leg over the sparrow, straddling and firing it up in a practiced motion. Sloane’s eyes are drawn to sun-kissed skin, dripping with sweat that drips down her chest and under the neckline of her tank top. Holliday gives them both a two-finger salute, smirking as they pass in front of the bird, eyes narrowing on Sloane’s. She sinks with a practiced ease onto the saddle. It’s hardly a sexual action, but the look in her eyes says something significantly different. The Deputy Commander swallows hard, can’t look away.

“You’re going to regret this,” Ariadne whispers up to Sloane.

Sloane doesn’t hear her over the sound of the Sparrow screeching to life and her racing heart. 


End file.
